Passing By: Ignorance
by julian-juliana
Summary: Hypocrisy and ignorance are toxic on their own. Lethal when combined, and no beauty or refinement ought to be seen by the product These two negatives should always fail to make a positive. Part three of the Passing By series.


**A/N: I apologize in taking forever on this. I hope it's worth the wait, and a question for you guys. Should the next part still be from Erik's or Hermione's? I got things started for both characters. Comment and let me know. If you want to let me know what you think of this segment, you can do that, too, and if you have tips on how I can a better write Erik, I'd love to hear them. Every little bit helps. :)**

 **This installment is more innuendo-heavy and probably has more profanity than the last two. For now, I'm keeping it at a T+, though.**

 **Apologies for any errors, I'll continue to clean this up.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Passing By: Ignorance**

He'll be damned if he admits to missing her. But the entire flight back, he's itching for her. Halfway to New York, he's making plans for Lenox Hill. He shoots her a text, learning a hell of a long time ago showing up and surprising girlfriends is a shit idea.

Kelly, Jasmine, and Whitney come to mind.

Can you believe Jasmine actually went onto marry that asshole?

It's two o' clock in the morning when he gets to her apartment, and she throws open the door. And he was kind of hoping she'd be sporting a Victoria's Secret special, and he thinks of Francine who'd been good to him like that. Nah, his girl's dressed in a knitted sweater, an embroidered H in the middle, and black leggings on those nice legs of her. Her wild curls are piled on top of her head, and those dangerous brown eyes of hers are unfocused and sleep-deprived.

He almost thinks he should've gone home, but she's yanking at the material of his shirt, tugging him passed the threshold.

"I've missed you," she mumbles, closing the door before climbing up him like a tree and wrapping her legs around his waist. She throws her arms around him and rests her head on his shoulder. "Fuck me."

He almost drops her at her usage of fuck and then remembers what time it is and how she gets. "Where?"

"Anywhere. Everywhere."

"The ass it is then."

Her body stiffens, and her head shoots up. Her face is as pink as her woolen socks. She's got that prissy, revolted look on her face when he or anyone else says something so stupid, it has a bad smell. "That is _not_ what I meant, Erik Stevens."

"So you missed me, huh?" He gives that ass a deserving swat.

Her eyes roll. "A tiny bit. Don't let it go to your *massive yawn* head."

Erik likes to think he can put up a good front, but he can't hide his disappointment this time. There's not a chance in hell he's getting lucky tonight, she's so beat and can't come when she's dead-ass tired. She either falls asleep during foreplay or lays there, moving her hips just enough for him to get off. It's emasculating.

He doesn't get it. Why can't she sleep? She's a pampered, self-employed gen-x white girl with a cushy bank account and a Tempurapedic. What the hell is she losing sleep over?

Erik's no stranger to waking up in the night. Bad dreams, flashbacks, shitty takeout, he's got to piss. You name it, it'll wake him up, but turning over and seeing his woman glaring at the goddamned ceiling like she's daring it to cave in is something he hadn't expected when taking Hermione on fulltime.

That night's no different. Like a tuckered-out ma with a cranky toddler, he rubs her back until she's out. Lips parted enough, there's gonna be a drool stain on her pillow. He's pretty confident she'll sleep until late morning, but hell no. He gets up to piss a while later. When he returns, she's sitting up, legs folded, and she's rocking. Her lamp's on, and he sees her pinching the bridge of her nose, and she's muttering under her breath.

"You all right?"

"Had a bad dream," she slurs. "Took something."

He sees a shadow of a bottle on her nightstand.

"You didn't take the whole thing, did you?"

"Of course, I didn't," she snaps. He swears he hears her utter _idiot_ underneath her breath. She slaps his side of the bed. "And put something on, you indecent prat."

It's _now_ she realizes he's naked and big surprise, she's annoyed. He had his boxers on when they got in bed, but the moment she was out, they came off. He prefers sleeping naked and no matter how exhausted he makes her after sex, she'll still finds the strength to crawl to her dresser and put on pjs. Their first night together, he fucked her so good, he got hit with a rare case of insecurity when she hopped out of bed on steady legs, put her underwear back on, stole his shirt, got back in bed, and slept maybe two hours the entire night.

"It's confining."

His girl's got the most perfect brows, he decides, and she arches one. "How so? Is the elastic too tight around your stomach?"

"No."

"Too tight around your legs?"

"No." Man, why does he like her?

"Then what on earth could it possible be confining?"

"Behold!" He gestures below his waist. "My dick, princess."

She hasn't looked at his dick once since he came back from the bathroom. Her tiredness gives her a relaxed, unimpressed vibe. Not that she's ever, not even once, expressed in any way how very impressive he is _there_ despite knowing her way around the area pretty damn well. She's complimented other parts of him, but not the part that really matters to a guy. He dated a girl before who played the same game, and Jesus Christ, she was as brutal as they come. Since now, he never pegged Hermione housing that kind of sadism.

He ought to see these kinds of things as warnings. Red flags. He should kiss her goodbye, promise to call, and ghost the hell out of her. But he's caught off guard by her laugh and the look she gives him. Like he's just too precious.

She reaches out to him. "Come here, sweetheart. Let me take care of you and show my appreciation for keeping the world safe for even the most horrible, ungrateful girlfriends like myself."

Hey, she said it first. Confessed to her crime right then. Did he listen to his gut and jump ship? You bet your ass he didn't. The only thing he jumped was her.

* * *

Because his girl's consistent, she only sleeps a few more hours. He's a light and extremely aware sleeper given his line of work. He knows when she's awake or when she's uncomfortable or restless. Out of all his girlfriends, he likes sharing a bed with her the second least.

Tonya snored like a dying pug. You can't get much worse than that.

Hermione's texting someone, and Erik doesn't have his glasses on, so he can't see who it is. He rubs his eyes, blinks a few times to adjust, and then kinda reads the messages and figures she's texting Hot Cousin Jane who's in New Mexico. And as far as Erik's concerned, the the woman's taking full advantage of her own white-privileged prettiness by swindling grants from idiot sponsors, so she can stargaze all goddamn night. Erik imagines some of the black astrophysicist he went to MIT with, both female and non, and knows without a doubt none of them could've scored such a sweet gig.

"You had a bad dream last night?" He failed to be a decent boyfriend before and ask about it. "What was it about?"

Starbucks stopped selling that pumpkin spice shit? Ugg boots became illegal? And wearing leggings with them was equivalent to homicide?

Okay, that last one...leggings on Hermione isn't so bad. She's on the brink of falling into a stereotype, though. He wouldn't mind seeing her in jeans more often. A skirt might be nice, too. The weather's cold, but she could wear those sexy, lace tights, and _real_ boots.

"A few things," she sighs out. "An accumulation of unhappy memories shoved into five seconds."

She hasn't talked about what happened when she was sixteen, and he hasn't asked. Hell, he figured she was well-adjusted enough to have gotten passed it but maybe she hasn't.

He's seen the scar now on her ribs, and no lie, it made him stare jaw-slacked because how the hell she lived through it, he has no fucking clue. That motherfucker who attacked her wasn't messing around.

It wasn't unheard of for young girls to die in Oakland, but typically; drugs, unplanned kids, or both got to them first. In a way, Erik considers Hermione lucky. For one, she lived and second, her life could've turned out a whole lot worse.

Trauma is trauma, though, and he's shit at comforting folks.

"I need a cat," she says.

It reminds him of good old Sully in the hospital bed, leg blown off, and high as a kite on painkillers and various other drugs. _"I'm getting a fucking dog!"_

And he did, too. Sully went home, got divorced, and applied for the tiniest service shih tzu. He named her Puffle.

Erik doesn't want Hermione to get a cat. He's dated sad girls with pets before, and playing second fiddle sucks ass. He's pretty cozy in this bed. It might be too soft, but he digs the company. If Hermione gets a goddamned cat, she's going to oust him from this spot.

'Sorry. This is Snowbell's spot now,' she'd say, rubbing the cat's head while it'd lift its leg and slowly lick itself all content and shit.

He could say, 'Baby, you don't need a cat. I'm right here. I got you,' and like a godforsaken free woman, she'd stomp out of the apartment and return with _two_ cats and order him to get lost.

It's Sunday today which explains her texting Jane. It also means she's got to call her ma soon and listen like a good daughter as the woman prays for, like, ten minutes and then lectures her for another twenty on how she should be going to church.

Erik legit once overheard a conversation between her and her ma. It was a couple of weeks ago, and he wasn't supposed to be standing outside her bedroom door. Daphne let him into the apartment, Hermione's door was cracked open, and her phone was on speaker.

" _You're never going to get married if you keep having premarital relations, sweetheart. No one's going to buy the cow when he can get the milk for free. I made your father wait, and it was good for both of us."_

 _"Erik would break up with me if I took on your conditions, Mum."_

Yeah, he definitely would.

Erik isn't going to judge his girlfriend's mother. He knows his place in life. In hers and his own. If he so much as directs a funny but mildly offensive jab at her mom, he can kiss Hermione's fantastic ass goodbye and reintroduce himself to cold showers and his own right hand.

Whatever she and her hot cousin are discussing via text isn't anywhere near to finishing up. He rolls over and falls back asleep. When he wakes up maybe an hour later, he hears the shower running and gets up to follow the steam.

"You got room in there?" he asks the fogged, incredibly appealing silhouette of his girlfriend.

Her humming stops. "It's in the middle of the morning. Wait your turn."

"I said nothing about fooling around." He opens the door, and her eyes narrow on his new scars she didn't bother to notice earlier. She doesn't say anything, though. Just turns her back to him. He wonders when she's going to ask about them because she hasn't yet. All his other girls did. A part of him wonders if she already knows, but the bigger part believes she couldn't or else they wouldn't be a thing.

He takes in her shower. It's nice and the first time he's used it. Tile and marble. There are thick glass vials on the shelf instead of plastic hygiene bottles. He picks one up, the liquid neon yellow so bright, it almost looks like the shit's glowing.

"The hell?"

"Serum for my hair," she comments, picking up another vial and pouring a lumpy dab of greenish-gray sludge into her the palm of her hand. "Come here."

"Nah, I'm good."

"Come. Here."

He obeys but not because he's pussy-whipped, thanks very much, or because he's digs the medicinal smell coming off the sludge.

"Turn around."

"Uh uh."

"Trust me."

He makes a disgruntled, pissed off noise and shows her his back, and she puts those tiny hands on his shoulders, massaging. The knots in his shoulders relax immediately, and his knees almost give out at the overpowering sensation of instant and pleasurable healing. Her hands wander down to his midback, and he leans away from her touch. He rests his head on the wall.

"It's too strong, isn't it? Blaise said it might be. I might have to lower the dosage."

"What's in it?"

"Um…well, delta-9 tetrahydrocannabino is an ingredient—"

"Marijuana."

"Cannabis," she clips all posh-like. " _Please._ What do you take me for? I am an educated chemist and doctor, _Mr. Stevens._ "

"Don't be flirting unless you mean it."

She kisses his shoulder and then goes on her tip toes to reach his cheek. "I shouldn't tease you like I do. I'm sorry."

She makes it up to him by giving him an hour-long massage using some kind of cream that smells like lake water and peppermint. His muscles become Jello, and he's sunk two inches deep into the foam-pad of her mattress. He woke up semi-refreshed and wasn't really tired before, but he's so relaxed, he nods off.

"Marry me now, babe," he slurs into her pillow.

She snorts. "Because we wouldn't do it later, that's for sure."

There's this unspoken _thing_ between them. They both know this isn't going to last, and it's wishful thinking they'll end things on good terms. He knows she's not going to be staying in New York forever. He _feels_ it. She's here because of a business deal, and sure, she'll stay maybe a few months longer. He's clocked those Stark Enterprise pamphlets on her desk, but no way she'll be content there. She's not fit for corporate life. The only boss she wants to answer to is herself and when she figures that out, she'll be gone.

"Although," she straddles his lower back, putting more strength into her arms and hands. "I could do worse."

"You could do better." He'll be honest. He's not husband material, and she's the type of lady who marries. No matter her feminist attitude and independence, she's got too much of her ma in her to not settle down like a good girl. Make loud-mouthed, brown-eyed babies with a meek, mild-mannered dude who wouldn't dare challenge her.

She pinches his shoulder blade playfully. "But I can't say I've ever dated anyone as pretty as you, Erik Stevens."

"Granger!" Daphne bangs her fist against the door. "Remember tonight!"

Hermione exhales slowly and climbs off him to stick her head out the door. "I told you I'll be out."

"Blaise would like Erik to be there."

"The hell he does."

"What's going on?" asks Erik.

"Nothing," says Hermione.

"We're having company over for dinner tonight. From home."

Hermione closes the door and locks it and sits at her desk on the verge of pouting. "I was planning on spending time at your place tonight. I'd rather not be here."

Her roommates and these people coming aren't any friends of his, so whatever. His phone buzzes on Hermione's nightstand, and he takes a look at the text he got.

From Blaise.

How'd that dude get his number?

 _Stay for dinner tonight._

 _-Blaise_

 _No,_ he texts back and resists the urge to ask how he got his number. Hermione _might_ have given it to him in case of an emergency, but figuring how "close" those two were, he assumed she'd rather just be shoveled into the back of a cab and make friends with the driver on the way to the hospital.

 _My mum's visiting. She wants to meet my new best mate._

Erik frowns at his screen. Man, he and Blaise aren't tight. They split a bottle of his whiskey a couple of days after he and Hermione became a thing and both got so drunk off their asses, Erik can't remember shit. Neither can Blaise, or so he says.

 _I'm sure your ma's a nice lady, but Hermione and I got plans._

 _Hermione will be there._

 _She just told Daphne no._

Not five seconds later…

"Granger!" Blaise bangs on the door. Hermione doesn't even flinch or move from her desk.

"Erik and I have plans!" she yells from her desk.

"It's bloody Sunday. You're not going to let him touch you for the rest of the bleedin' day!"

His woman gapes at the door, mortified, and Erik wants in on how Blaise knows this about her. For someone who claims to dislike her, this seems personal.

Hermione storms to the door and throws it open. "Blaise Zabini, you will not speak to me in such a way again. Do you understand? Don't forget," she waves her pointer finger around, "this whole thing you have can end _tonight_ upon the visit of your dear, _dear_ mum."

Blaise lets out a disgusted sound. "Oliver is going to be here tonight, too. Do you know what that means?"

Hermione's pretty mouth opens and then closes, but she composes herself quick. She leans against the doorframe, now unbothered. "Do you?"

"I'm prepared."

"I doubt it. Ginny talks to me more than she does you, you know?"

"Say you'll be there."

"Draco's going to be here, and Daphne will be extra horrible because of it."

"It'll be fine. Erik's coming."

"Erik's not," pipes Erik, busying himself with his phone. Whatever crazy _Dynasty_ shit these weirdos are twisted up in, he'd rather take several hits in the ring. And that's what he's doing now. Making sure his gym is going to stay open until late. Getting knocked around sounds a hell of lot better than this drama, and from the way Blaise is talking, Hermione's not going to be able to get away.

He doesn't want to know about these angst-ridden parts of his girlfriend. He doesn't want to know about her ex-boyfriends. He doesn't care about them as long as they're not trying to make a comeback. He's not jealous. He's not possessive. She's just his for now, and he likes it that way. That doesn't mean her business partner is entitled to draw him into the goddamned circus. Erik wants Hermione. Not Hermione and people who aren't even her friends, let alone actually fucking nice to her.

"Erik's not," agrees Hermione. "We're not."

"Whatever. Ginny's only coming because she thinks you'll be here."

"That's not the _only_ reason, Blaise, and you know it. I'll catch up with her in the morning over breakfast."

Stupidly, Erik think that's where the line's been drawn. He and Hermione will go back to his place in a while. Which is great. He's got to fly out again in a couple of days because Chris is getting married. Erik's not even sure how long he'll be gone this time and hasn't told Hermione yet.

* * *

This Ginny person and her boyfriend Oliver show up early.

"So sorry we're early," says the woman who's got to be Ginny. Pretty as a model and built like a viking. Apparently, she's Hermione's best friend, and this is the first day Erik's heard about her. He gets to see her for five seconds, but she fails to introduce herself to him. "Blaise, George wants me to to talk to you about the London branch." She disappears down the hall with Blaise on her tail and leaving her boyfriend to fend for himself.

Daphne stares after them blankly, not saying a fucking word.

Oliver. He's attractive and has the kind of accent that makes honeys of all races and nationality swoon. Erik notices smoky, ink marks creeping up from underneath his collar and the cuffs of his posh oxford shirt. "Yeah, sorry we're early," he comments. "Gin wanted to surprise Hermione and thought we'd catch tea with you guys."

"Hey, sweetheart." Oliver winks at Hermione. "Been a while, yeah?"

"Oliver, this is Erik. Erik, this is Oliver."

Oliver extends a hand. "Granger and I go way back."

Interesting. Offers to shake hands but goes with, 'Granger and I go way back' instead of something like 'pleased to meet you.' Oliver might as well have said, 'I used to fuck your girlfriend, but now I'm at it with her best friend.'

Erik sees himself as a lot a things. Insecure isn't one of them. Hermione's with Erik. She called _him_ one of the most handsome men she's ever seen. She makes _him_ tea and scrubs his bathroom floor when he's sick. She tucks _him_ into bed like he's a kid again. She sexts _him_ all the time and tells _him_ she prays for him when he's away because she worries. She gives him hour-long massages and didn't go screaming in the other direction when she saw him without a shirt for the first time.

Eventually, he won't remember all the good she's done for him, but right now he does, and he's confident. He's confident she won't swoon at Oliver, and she doesn't. Erik shakes his hand and even though he's tempted to squeeze it right off his wrist, he resists because Hermione's watching, and she'd be pissed.

"I'm sorry," says Hermione when it's just them close to the nook for a little privacy. She encircles his waist with her arms and staring up at him all sorry and shit with those pretty eyes off hers, damn it. "If you want to leave…"

"You're not coming now?"

"Ginny's here." She looks over her shoulder and frowns. Blaise is gone, and Daphne and Oliver are at the bar. Daphne's breaking open chilled vodka and drinking it straight from the bottle. "Somewhere. You go home. I'll be along. I'll bring your things if you just want to make a go for it."

Self-confident or not, he makes a point in kissing her long and hard and giving that ass of hers a squeeze. When he pulls away, she's not dazed like he'd like her to be. Shit, why doesn't she swoon for him? Why does she got to be so in control all the time? Why does she always got to look pissed off?

"If you think that was about me, then you're full of it." Her tone's frigid. "And here I thought you were above this. One thing that I really, _really_ like about you is how you don't get jealous. Kiss me for _me_. Never make it about anybody else."

Her hypocrisy is loud today, damn. "So when we were on the subway that one time, and the old crusty ass man came up to us and asked if I was bothering you. You could've said no."

She's blushing now. Good. "You're right," she chokes. "It isn't fair—"

"What did you do?"

"I'm sorry."

"What. Did. You. Do?" He puts his arm around her waist and pulls her close, resting his forehead on hers. "Remind me."

"Well," she clears her throat and detangles from him. "For starters, I was certainly sober. I hadn't a glass of wine or a beer less than an hour before. Therefore, I was completely clear-headed, and I simply ignored that fugly codger because my mother raised me to be a dignified sort. No way did _I_ stomp on his foot, spit in his face, and then…sexually assault you in front of everyone—"

He kisses her again because she's too fucking cute, and he can't fucking stand it. She smiles against his mouth, and she's more into it this time.

"Give me a bit. I've got to take care of a few things, and I'll be over," she tells him. "We'll order Chinese and watch whatever you want?"

Lame. How'd he get wrapped up in this bullshit? And willingly? Irritation surges up inside him. He can't let that happen. For a moment, he thinks it's decent of her to make him work for it. They extended what should've been a one-night-stand into a relationship, and he gets that. But, man, he doesn't want to work this hard. Pretty much no sex on Sundays or during the day any day.

"What?" She frowns. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing." He gives her rump a gentle smack. "I just like when we do other stuff is all."

"We do plenty of _that_."

He wonders if she even knows what the word _plenty_ means. "Baby, I'm going to be leaving again in couple of days, and you're going to be working tomorrow."

"A couple of days?" She pulls away from him. "You just got home, Erik."

"Yeah, can we please not do Chinese and movies then?"

"It's…" She flushes, but he sees her resolve breaking. "Indecent. What you're suggesting."

"You haven't seen indecent yet, but I'll put you over my knee if it makes you feel like you need to be punished."

Her flush turns scarlet, and her mouth opens and then closes. When she does manage words, she says, "It…might."

He took a gamble with that one, and it paid off!

Hermione's got to track down her friend Ginny, and Erik's no idiot. Drama was already brewing in the apartment before Ginny and Oliver showed up, but when they arrived, he's drowning it now. He's not going to linger. Hermione said she'd bring his stuff, so he's pretty much home free once he's in the elevator. It slides closed, and then an arm pokes through the gap.

Oliver joins Erik in the elevator and he wastes no time in cutting the bullshit.

"Get out while you can, mate. That woman will never love you because she's never going to get over that bastard. Either because she still loves him or because she's afraid to get hurt again, I don't have a bleedin' clue anymore. But she's going to draw a line if she hasn't already and allow you to cross it _occasionally_ and then shove you the fuck back into your proper place. Spare yourself the misery and shake her."

Oliver hits button 3 and leaves Erik with information he didn't really need but could've guessed if he cared enough. Sure, he figured Hermione got her heart broke at some point and time, but he's not concerned about it. Erik _likes_ Hermione. He's not Oliver who obviously loved her and still might. So he's not worried about getting his hopes up and having his heart broken. He doesn't think the woman could break anything of his if she tried. Call him immune to white women being able to hurt him. She can annoy the hell out of him, sure, but not _hurt_ him.

On the subway home, he starts thinking about lines, and yeah, Oliver's got a point. Hermione and her rules, and Erik sympathizes with the dude. It couldn't have been easy loving her and only being able to show it when she deemed him and the time worthy.

Erik starts thinking about this guy that broke Hermione's heart and wonders if she posted no-trespassing signs on her granny panties with him. Was she just as proper or was she more uninhibited because she loved him?

Erik has no interest in loving Hermione, but damn, he'd like her to lose some of that starch on her own rather than having him ease out those kinks before sex.

He falls asleep with his music going and wakes up when Hermione lays down next to him on the bed, curling up behind him. "You left your door unlocked. Anyone could just walk in and snatch you up. Then what would I do?"

"No, I didn't."

She's rubbing the back of his neck. "Shh, go back to sleep."

"I lock my door." He's up now and looking at her over his shoulder.

"It wasn't." There's a weird look on her face. "But it is now."

"So you just walked in anyway?"

Hell, he'll put up some of his own goddamned lines. See how she likes it.

Hermione pauses before saying, "Yes, I walked in anyway. I'm sorry. Rather presumptuous of me. I should've knocked. This isn't my place, it's yours. Plus, we've only been dating a month…"

"Guess you can't help yourself given what your people ingrained into you—"

She's off the bed now, staring at him like he slapped her. "Excuse me?"

The words slipped out but maybe they kinda didn't. Either way, he sort of regrets it, because now she's glancing at his bedroom door. She's thinking of leaving, and he doubts he'll see her again before he flies out on Tuesday. Maybe this is good for them. They're both learning about boundaries. He shouldn't be on her all the time about sex, and she shouldn't be walking into his apartment like she owns the place no matter that she was trying to be playful.

Certain colonizers thought they were doing the people of Africa a favor when they rolled up onto the coasts.

"You know what I mean—"

"I…think I do." She nods, and her eyes are the floor now. "And if that's how you feel, then maybe—"

"I'm calling you ignorant. I'm not saying we should end things."

"Ignorant," she repeats. Her voice has gone high, and yeah, he can forget about getting lucky before Tuesday and maybe even after he gets back. She's at the brink of storming out and deleting his number from her phone. He's got to reel it back in.

Banging on the door makes them both jump.

"Fire! There's fucking fire on the first and second floor! We've got to evacuate!"

Sure enough, through his parted curtains, he sees smoke. "Shit!"

He has seconds to decide what he can bring with him. His duffel's already packed, so he grabs that, his keys and wallet, and Dad's journal. He lingers at his bookshelf and grabs _The Fellowship of the Ring_. Erik's on the sixth floor and wants to think the fire will be put out before it reaches his apartment, but there's no guarantee.

"What else do you need?" asks Hermione. She gives the one, single book he grabbed sad eyes as if to say, 'that's not enough, you silly, silly man.'

He sees an opportunity and takes it like a pro. "You." With his duffel slung over one shoulder, he hoists her over other.

"What on earth?! You don't need to carry me, Erik! I can walk just fine!"

He carries her out down the emergency stairwell and halfway down, with everyone else lugging their shit as slow as possible, he's regretting his decision. Hermione hardly weighs anything, but both she and his duffel are wearing him out fast. Still, he's too damned prideful to put her down.

"I'm not hurt," she says to Luz's abuela who's staring at her all worried. "My boyfriend's just a dork."

Towards the second floor, the air's thick with smoke. Finally, they're outside, and he's putting Hermione down, and she hits him hard on his shoulder and then slaps his face with the other.

"You. Idiot." She's got her finger close to his nose. "You do anything like that again, I'll hex—"

"Mi nina. Mi nina! lla sigue ahí!"

A woman is dragged from the complex by two firefighters, one of them trying to ensure her there's someone getting her little girl. A few seconds later, another firefighter appears from the smoke and one of them with the woman asks, "Did you get the girl?"

"What girl?" He's holding a shaking Schnauzer.

Windows from the first and second floor are blown out, hot glass going everywhere. Everyone screams and ducks. He crouches and reaches for his woman and meets air. He looks to his side and finds her gone. A red-legged partridge darts passed him directly into a broken window, disappearing into the smoke.

"Hermione," he calls out, searching over the crowd to spot her. He goes up to an Indian family and asks if they've seen her.

The husband and wife shake heads, but their four-year-old son bobs his head up and down. "She shrank down," he says in a mix of English and Hindi. His hands go wide and then clap together. "And turned into a pretty birdie." His arms then flap. "It was _awesome!"_

"We did not see her," says the wife again, this time in English. She pats her son's head. "What did I tell you about your tall-tales?"

"This one's true, Mämē, I saw it."

Another group of people come clamoring outside of the complex, and there's his girlfriend covered in ash holding a sobbing two-year-old girl…

And this is where things get hazy. It's like she's popping in and out of the crowd of people, appearing and reappearing beside him. His head begins to ache…

"Hey, are you all right?"

He's awake and has been, but now he just seems, dunno, aware? He's in Hermione bedroom, and she's got a cold cloth over his forehead. She's sitting beside him, and there's a mug on the nightstand. That's right. They came back here after the fire, and she made him tea.

He jerks up. "What happened?"

"Nothing." She gestures to the mug. ""You got a headache on the subway and threw up when you got here. You inhaled too much smoke. How are you feeling?"

Yeah, that's right. But there's something else. He'd been…upset with her about something.

Lines? Boundaries?

Yes, but no. That wasn't all.

Was it?

"Fine," and he's feeling like a dick. He admits to himself he might've been harsh with her on barging into his place like she did. With his complex closed off, he's got to stay with her and is literally laying in the middle of the bed taking up all the space.

Well, he doesn't have to. He could find a motel or fly out earlier for work than planned.

"I shouldn't be staying here."

Her brows raise, and lips pinch together. She's telling him she's not cool with what he said and wants a goddamned apology as soon as possible. Who the hell gives a shit he hauled her ass down six flights of stairs, some of it through smoke.

"Maybe time apart won't be so bad for us."

"You've already been gone sixteen days since we started things, Erik."

"Then what? We're done?"

"You know, this isn't the first time I have felt this way with you. There are times where I think you want me to apologize for things I'm not responsible for. I like you, Erik. I want us to stay together, but you should really think about if I'm what you want. Because if you don't, then you're putting up with me for all the wrong reasons."

He'll kick himself later because she gave him an out. She all but opened the door and told him he was free if he wanted to be.

Thing is, he does go but has no intention of breaking up with her. He tells her he'll think on what she said and kisses her on the cheek.

"We both need to think on somethings, I guess," she tells him. "And it'll give me time getting my birth control sorted again. My…medication is about to be recalled for very unfortunate side effects."

"Like what?"

"Pregnancy." She laughs, but he sees she wants to smash something. And he might just too, because that shit's not funny. "Don't worry. _I'm_ not pregnant. You're very responsible with your supply of prophylactics and not trusting me when I say I got this handled."

Damn right he does, and he wants to be mad at her for scaring the shit out of him, but this is one thing he can't yell at her about. All kinds of pharmaceuticals getting recalled now. That isn't her fault, and he should be grateful he was man enough not to put the entire responsibility in her hands.

He'll slip up _once_ in due time.

* * *

This time overseas, he misses her more than last time, and he gets a care package in the mail from her. She must've sent it the night he flew out from JFK. There's a note with it saying that she misses him and to be safe.

Attached is a photograph of her in a lingerie set he's never seen before. Her hair looks different. Shiny and her curls are thicker. She's laying on her bed at such an angle, someone else had to be taking the picture. On the back of the picture is a Sindarin message for him:

 _Call me ignorant one more time, jackass. I dare you._

 _P.S. ParaGard says hi._

The End.


End file.
